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That… thing.
It’s caught Kim Dokja’s eye recently more times than he could count.
Darting between his teeth whenever Yoo Joonghyuk speaks… That thing. The glint of metal, the round orb atop his tongue.
Kim Dokja has felt it against his own tongue, warm and yet cold, jutting into his flesh deliciously, stealing breaths from him—that piercing. He’s felt it across his gums, the side of his cheeks, pressing, pressing, and prodding. He’s felt it lay assault across his skin, whenever Yoo Joonghyuk found it necessary to lave his tongue across Kim Dokja’s skin like an uncontrollable wolf.
He’s wanted to…
No. He can’t possibly tell Yoo Joonghyuk that. That he’s wanted to feel his tongue against his cunt, placing those same kisses, those same long strokes against someplace like that. It’s a blasphemous thought. It’s something he couldn’t dare muster up the courage to tell Yoo Joonghyuk, no matter how shameless he acts.
So Kim Dokja chooses to sit in silence, stealing glances at Yoo Joonghyuk’s tongue piercing and satisfying himself with nothing more than his imagination.
At least, that’s what he tries to do.
“You’re staring,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. Kim Dokja averts his eyes as that glint of metal appears right before him again, tempting him like a siren’s call. It darts between Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips, before disappearing once more.
Kim Dokja has to quiet the disappointment ringing bells in his mind before he’s able to catch the fact that Yoo Joonghyuk had spoken. He swallows, meeting Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze. It’s an attempt to steel himself. It’s a poor attempt, but an attempt, nonetheless.
“I’m not.” Kim Dokja’s tone doesn’t sound very convincing, even to himself.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrow. It’s clear he didn’t convince Yoo Joonghyuk, either.
And so, somehow, in some way, Kim Dokja’s lie fell apart right in front of him. Of course, at the hands of Yoo Joonghyuk, as usual.
In some strange series of events, Kim Dokja found himself like this.
Pinned under Yoo Joonghyuk’s hands, his thighs captured by Yoo Joonghyuk’s palms, even if he tries to struggle, there’d be nowhere to escape to. Trying to swat Yoo Joonghyuk’s face away is a futile endeavor, too. He’s tried, of course, but Yoo Joonghyuk, this stubborn brat, wouldn’t let him go in a million years.
He’s completely exposed. Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath fans out across his cunt, his tongue having already delved into Kim Dokja’s pussy once, twice, almost certainly more times than that now.
It’s embarrassing. It’s more embarrassing than anything else.
They’ve had sex before. Of course they have. Just—not like this. Not with Yoo Joonghyuk’s face so close to his cunt, his eye level right by his glistening folds, his needy entrance. Not with his mouth against Kim Dokja’s clit, his lips sucking against it—suction enough to make his vision blur.
“E-enough,” Kim Dokja ekes out. Yoo Joonghyuk, as usual, pays no heed to such words.
It’s insane—insane. This feeling, it’s good. There’s no other way to describe it—Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers gripping his thighs with a strength forceful enough to bruise, the piercing sending jolts through Kim Dokja’s body each time it swirls briefly inside of him, the warm metal pressing against his clit with each long drag of Yoo Joonghyuk’s tongue.
“Joonghyuk-ah—fuck, not there,” he gasps. “Not there, no, fuck, listen to me, Yoo Joonghyuk—!”
The bastard, Yoo Joonghyuk, acts as if he can’t hear. Acts as if the only thing he was born to do was to lap at Kim Dokja’s pussy like a famished man—drinking and drinking Kim Dokja’s juices until there’s nothing else for him to drink up. That same pattern—of his tongue shlicking into his cunt, into his entrance, before leaving, just to lap at his clit again.
Kim Dokja should’ve expected such a thing—this stubborn bastard. This son of a bitch was always good at things—extremely good during their first time, good at cooking, good at… It’d take years for him to find something that Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t good at.
So this was natural. Yoo Joonghyuk’s technique, the jolts thrumming—humming and zipping and zapping under his skin, frantically electric—it was natural. It was natural for Yoo Joonghyuk to be good at this and it was natural for him to be infuriating, and it was completely natural for him to try to tease all of these sounds out of Kim Dokja—to try to make him fall apart.
But… Fuck. It’s maddening. This technique—Kim Dokja should’ve known. Should’ve known that this bastard would see the entire thing through.
Yoo Joonghyuk is never one to half ass things, and never one to let things go.
Imagining the sight of it is enough to make him go insane. He can’t see anything but the sight of Yoo Joonghyuk’s hair at this angle, but… Really. If he could… if he could catch a glimpse of how Yoo Joonghyuk’s tongue piercing looked sliding right across his cunt—a glimpse of Yoo Joonghyuk’s soaked face, wet with Kim Dokja’s slick…
A jolt slips right through his belly at the thought. Damn his body.
“Ugh, shit, Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja cries. “No more, no more. Fuck, not there.”
It’s Kim Dokja’s fault for thinking that Yoo Joonghyuk could ever be normal about anything. It’s completely on Kim Dokja for thinking that this stubborn bastard wouldn’t have done something like this.
But… The sight of that piercing was enough to tempt him. And maybe it shouldn’t have—or maybe it should’ve.
Because despite all of his complaints—voiced out in the air and said without a second thought, his mind too ruined by Yoo Joonghyuk’s tongue to comprehend the magnitude of the words that escape him, it’s…
It feels good, good—good enough for him to cry, better than any sex he’s had with Yoo Joonghyuk before. His entire body is limp, boneless in Yoo Joonghyuk’s grasp, gasps and tightly suppressed moans puffing from his chest, nasally and barely contained.
By the time Yoo Joonghyuk’s done with him, he’s sobbing. He can’t see anything, can’t think, can’t breathe, his entire body swallowed deep in the constant sensation of Yoo Joonghyuk’s tongue, laving against him, over, over, and over again—again, again, with no end in sight.
His head thumps back against the pillow, his psyche shattering against the mattress. Like a puppet with cut strings, he lies there, his mind too frazzled with sensation to remember to breathe. He writhes akin to a snake on a velvet surface, an involuntary movement. There’s no strength left in his body to do more than that, when Yoo Joonghyuk’s tongue dips again between the folds of his soaked cunt, again, slipping into his sore entrance—the most obscene noises escaping from that simple motion, and even worse escaping from Kim Dokja’s own mouth.
And the final nail on the coffin is when Yoo Joonghyuk finally—finally—stops his ministrations on his cunt, allowing him the briefest second to breathe—inhales, in, in, in, before a sharp out. Only then does he notice that the hands that pinned him down for so long had disappeared, quite a while ago.
Kim Dokja’s eyes flutter open, and they can barely capture the shadow of Yoo Joonghyuk’s face, the tears clumping on his eyelids enough to blur his vision to fractals. Still, his dazed mind is lucid enough to hear the words that escape from Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth a second later.
“Your cunt is twitching, Kim Dokja.”
Fucking bastard, Kim Dokja thinks.